


Fidelis

by catlinyemaker



Series: A Warrior's Heart [4]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/M, Fix-It, Headcanon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5343623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catlinyemaker/pseuds/catlinyemaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>**MAJOR SPOILERS** for the SITH WARRIOR storyline and the IMPERIAL AGENT storyline.  </p>
<p>“I believe I have crafted the perfect solution to my wayward apprentice’s rebellion, Captain.  And you will be the means of it.”</p>
<p>(Being the <i>true</i> and <i>complete</i> tale of what befell Lord Adiira, the Emperor's Wrath, and her crew on their journey from Voss to Corellia.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Malavai must have gotten back from his latest meeting for the military sometime in the small hours of the night; he’d chosen to sleep in his own quarters rather than in theirs, probably to avoid waking her. The first Adiira knew of his return was when he emerged from his cabin grim and unshaven, and went directly to the galley for coffee without a word.

“Quinn, welcome back.” Adiira greeted him with a quick wave as the crew sat to breakfast. He glanced over where she sat and nodded briefly then seemed to sink back into a brood. Vette and Jaesa and Pierce had their own tasks today, but she was free. And from the looks of things Malavai badly needed a break.

“Quinn, come with me today; we’ll survey the uplands, perhaps take a picnic?” She’d thought to garner a smile from him but when he looked up at that he almost looked alarmed.

“My lord?” His voice was rough; her heart went out to him. “I’d thought to make some progress on analyzing the latest intelligence from the Gormak.”

“Surely it can wait a few hours, Quinn? We have some time and the day is beautiful, let’s not waste it.”

“As you wish, my lord. Give me a few moments to make myself presentable.”

Adiira watched him with concern as he set his dishes in the cleaner and left the galley.

#

The light breeze blowing past the overlook brought the pleasing scent of some spicy plant to Adiira’s nose and ruffled her short auburn curls. She strolled over to the rock wall edging the overlook and leaned out to admire the view, the remnants of a not entirely successful picnic spread on the boulders behind her. Her attempts at conversation had been largely rebuffed; the mission had gone poorly, it seemed, and Malavai was disinclined to talk about it. He had unbent enough to rest, at least, eyes closed, lying back with a smooth granite boulder as a backrest, his jacket rolled under his head serving as a pillow.

She took a deep breath of the mild scented air. It was heavenly to be on a warm planet after Hoth and Belsavis. Even Alderaan was too chill for her, for all its beauty. But here on Voss the vista and the weather were both very fine, the plains and forest below touched with gold, caught on the cusp of fall.

“It’s beautiful here; a largely peaceful planet of Force wielders,” she said, watching a small flock of native birds wheel across the clear sky. “It could be a place for your school, for us, when our service is over. What do you think?” Adiira turned back to face to him just in time to see his face twist in grief for just a moment. Malavai sat up and ran his hand over his face and when he looked up again it was with his Officer of the Imperial Service face, giving nothing away, blue eyes watchful. He shrugged his jacket back on, rising to come and stand in his usual place at her shoulder.

“Of course, my lord.” It was his formal voice, too, polite and non-committal. Something was definitely very wrong indeed; he never looked at her like that when they were alone like this. Alarmed, Adiira probed further, opening her connection to the Force.

“What’s the matter, Malavai?”

“My lord? There’s nothing wrong that I know of.” His light words belied an oddly muted roil of rage and despair. His true aura flared through cracks in what appeared as a kind of dead barrier in her Force sight. There was something _other_ there, smothering the emotions. Something imposed. Adiira turned away from him and pretended to study the horizon again. Her lips curled in a snarl. She had seen this before. How stupid of her enemy to use something she’d seen before. It was so easy to give in to rage now; she was much quicker to anger now, since Darth Baras’ betrayal had led her to become the Wrath. She tamped it down, channeling it into the well-worn paths, banking her fury beneath a placid surface lest Malavai become aware of it.

When she was sure her face was under control, as bland and uninformative as his, she stepped back from the overlook and went to gather up their picnic. An observer would have seen nothing amiss, save for a bit of stiffness between lord and vassal.

“Very well,” she said when everything was stowed. “We should return to the ship, Quinn, I have some business that won’t wait.”

Adiira left him to his own devices when they got back, and shortly heard the airlock cycle. Alone in the ship, she turned on the secure holocom. “Danal? I need to meet with you. Privately. Yes, as soon as can be arranged.”

Voss’ orbital station wasn’t that large; it wasn’t far to the docking bay where Danal’s luxury vessel rested. But standard protocol since the Darth had tried to murder her and the Hand had conscripted her was that she never went anywhere alone. Adiira called Jaesa back from her errands, and when she returned they left the ship together. Once at his ship’s loading ramp, though, Adiira paused.

“Jaesa, I need a private meeting with Agent Rom.”

“Master, is something wrong?”

Adiira sighed. “I suspect it may be, but I can’t discuss it now. Please leave me, I’ll be safe enough here. I’ll call you when I’m ready to return if Agent Rom doesn’t escort me back.”

Jaesa nodded, solemn, and left the bay. She glanced back once and Adiira waved her on her way before activating the call button on the ramp and settling in to wait out the usual protracted security scan at the airlock of Danal’s ship. As expected, since she’d piqued her friend’s insatiable curiosity with her call, the Chiss Cipher agent was waiting for her in the entrance when the display finally went green and the door hissed open.

“Where’s your captain?” Danal asked, craning to look around Adiira as she stood alone in the airlock. He was no taller than she was, medium height for a Chiss if short for a Human. Red eyes automatically scanned the loading bay for hostiles as he waved her casually inside.

“I don’t know. I came over with Jaesa; I’ve sent her away just now. I assume your ship is safe enough?” His eyebrows went up at that.

“Of course. Do you need me to send my crew off too?”

“It might be better.”

He made the necessary arrangements, dispersing his crew to whatever chores they had waiting off-ship. Adiira waited in the lounge as he circled the room, turning on small jammers at each wall.

“This will cover our conversation. The doctor won’t pry when his bugs pick it up; he knows better.” Danal went over to the galley and brought back two glasses of tea. Handing one to Adiira, he sat on the couch next to her, leaning back at ease and waiting to hear what she had to say. She sat with her head down for a long moment, turning her glass in both hands. Eventually she sighed and set it on the low table in front of her.

“Danal… We’ve never talked about Quesh.”

Whatever he thought she’d come to say, this wasn’t it. He went perfectly still for a moment, his face blank; he looked as close to stunned as she’d ever seen him. She could tell when all of the implications of that simple sentence sank in, as he tensed in his seat, sitting forward and setting his glass down with a click. He turned to face her fully, eyes hard in a face that held no warmth at all.

“What about Quesh? What do you want?” The predator was rising to the surface; he stood and stepped away from her, pacing to the doorway. He liked to work at range. She leaned back slowly, moving her hands well away from her weapons, lowering her threat as much as she could.

“Danal,” she said softly. You talked softly to the dangerous ones; you used their names if you knew them. At least if you were intent on talking to them, rather than killing them as quickly as possible. “I would never have mentioned it if I were not in direst need.” That brought a pause in his pacing. He turned to look at her, tense and cold. She was struck with the absurd thought that he could model for an idol carved in lapis, looking like that, if they used garnets for the eyes.

“What, particularly, about Quesh, then?”

“I… You know that Sith can sense auras, emotions, even thoughts, if they are strong enough. Jedi can manipulate thoughts. I can sense emotions, if I work at it. I knew you were not acting normally, so I… checked. And found a sort of barrier, a gray wall, and immense rage leaking from behind it. I could do nothing, and you were calmer later on, so I assumed you were carrying out some plan.”

“Go on.”

“Something or someone was controlling you; it was the only explanation which made sense of your actions and your aura. And you won free of that control on Quesh, I know. Because later, after we left the planet the second time, your aura was normal.” She dared a tiny joke: “As normal as it gets, anyway.”

Danal’s eyes stayed on her, still hard as flint. “That’s a pretty fairy story. But why bring it up now?”

“Because they’ve done it to Quinn, too.” She had shocked him twice in one day now. That had to be a record. Quickly she sketched the scenario, the picnic, Quinn’s inexplicable distress, and what she’d seen with the Force. Danal relaxed enough to sit down again next to her again, watching her face as she spoke. After a while she fell silent. He absently picked up his tea and took a sip, staring into space, then called up his data display and ran through a few screens, tracing links quickly enough that Adiira couldn’t make out what he was looking for. Eventually he must have found what he sought, because the screens snapped off and he sat back and turned to her again.

“Baras has been meddling in Imperial Intelligence lately. He must have come across this... control serum in their records.” Danal grimaced. “I imagine he was delighted. It would be easy enough to waylay Quinn on one of his trips and suborn him. No one would be the wiser, not even the captain, until the control was triggered.”

He went on, his expression dark: “Now that they’ve activated him, there will be some sort of trap that they’ll use Quinn to set, and soon.”

“Yes, I think so,” she said miserably, slumping forward in her seat, head bowed, now that it was safer to move.

“It’s lucky for us that Darth Baras can’t resist complications,” he said to her gently. “I would have hired a sniper to kill you from 3 kilometers away. The man is gothic. No, not gothic, he’s baroque... all those useless little curlicues and fancy carving.”

She laughed weakly at that, as he’d intended.

“Too soon to know what he might be planning. It was just the barest luck you noticed at all,” he continued. “I think we have to let the drama play out.”

“I want Quinn freed.” Adiira’s mouth hardened.

“Yes, but not before we spring his trap. Your captain is a terrible actor, my dear. He’d never be able to conceal his freedom from his controller.” Danal’s voice was light but his eyes were concerned. “Besides, the cure takes time to work. We need two weeks at least.”

“Adiira,” he went on in a more serious tone, “I must tell you, there is no guarantee that this ‘cure’ will work. It’s a reprograming, it overwrites the original for a new controller - twists your thoughts, distorts everything. Quinn may go mad before we can release him.”

“Jaesa might know some Jedi trick to buffer his mind,” Adiira said, her face bleak. “We’ll need to explain what’s going on to her.”

“Her, but no one else.” Danal spoke sternly and Adiira nodded in answer.

She looked up and frowned. “Why did Darth Baras choose Quinn? Doesn’t he know that I would sense his distress? Or is it that he doesn’t think a Sith would care if her husband were in pain?”

“He doesn’t know you married the man.” Danal raised one eyebrow. “You asked me to bury that, don’t you remember?”

#

Malavai made his way by a circuitous route to a small hired office on a nondescript corridor on Nar Shadaa. He unlocked the door and slipped inside, relocking it behind him before taking a datapad from a drawer in a large workbench littered with heavy-duty droid parts. He frowned over the pad.

It was convenient, if unusual, that Lord Adiira was partnering with her padawan more often than with him while they were on Voss. Training, she’d said. Since the Voss used the Force but were neither Sith nor Jedi it was an unparalleled opportunity for Jaesa. He really didn’t care what her reasoning was. He needed the time, stealing a few hours between missions whenever he could. Needed the time to work on her murder.

His thoughts returned to his last visit to Korriban; he found himself unable to resist probing the memory like a sore tooth.

The Darth’s office was as luxurious as the rest of the upper levels of the Citadel, thick red carpet muffling footfalls, tapestries on the walls muffling... screams, Malavai thought, eyeing the torture table. Most Darths had desks or conference tables in pride of place in the outer office. Darth Baras had a torture table, the same one he’d had on Dromond Kaas, if he were not mistaken. One which Malavai anticipated he’d soon be occupying.

Flanked by the two sergeants who had been his captors since they’d accosted him at the Dromond Kaas shuttleport when he arrived for what he thought was a military meeting, Malavai stood at attention. The least he could do, faced with this fate, was meet it boldly. He hoped Lord Adiira wouldn’t be drawn into a trap using him as bait; perhaps the darth would merely torture him to death on the pretext of getting at the secrets he held. The most likely scenario was that both were intended, of course.

“I am here as summoned, my lord.” He kept as much emotion from his voice as he could, only allowing himself a whisper of sarcasm. Bruises blooming on pale skin bore witness to the violent nature of the summons.

“Captain.” Darth Baras invested the single word with a freight of menace. The darth paced heavily back and forth between the sinister table and Malavai and his two guards, his attention never leaving Malavai’s face. His silver mask concealed his expression, but he was watching for signs of strain, no doubt; Malavai refused to give him the satisfaction.   That would come soon enough. The silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the swish of Baras’ robes as he paced.

“I believe I have crafted the perfect solution to my wayward apprentice’s rebellion, Captain. And you will be the means of it.” Malavai glanced at the table and tensed, ready to try one last ditch desperate escape before they wrestled him onto it; dead or maimed, either would be preferable to being Lord Adiira’s downfall. Baras chuckled.

“Do you think I would be so unsubtle as to torture you to lure her into a trap? You are naïve, Captain.” He laughed again at his prisoner’s confusion. “Captain Malavai Quinn. Attention!” he snapped, “Ranthorn-adumbrate.”

Malavai found himself standing at attention without having made the least effort to do so. He tried shifting to parade rest; nothing happened… he tried to move even a finger, without success. He tried to speak; that too was beyond him. His mind whirled with barely controlled panic. Held motionless and mute, he could only listen as the darth gave him his orders.

The control Baras had somehow gained over him was absolute. He’d become a puppet, compelled to be the author of Lord Adiira’s destruction, forbidden to even hint of the plot against her to anyone.

Malavai returned to the present, wiping a weary hand over his face, erasing a few vagrant tears. The Darth’s orders had been inexorable, and quite clear: build and carry out an ambush for Lord Adiira, one which would be fatal to her. Reveal this trap and your role in it to no one. His agile mind worried at the bars of the cage. A trap for Lord Adiira, one sure to be fatal to a Sith lord of her power and abilities. A Sith lord. A single Sith lord... He closed his eyes, tracing the logic trails, testing the hypotheses. Yes. That was the way to do it.

He had all the data he needed, accurate estimates of her power in the Force and her skill at arms. He bent to the datapad again, carefully checking and rechecking his numbers to make certain that the killer droids he would build were exactly as powerful as they needed to be to defeat his lord.

 


	2. Act One

Danal told her he would arrange it all, requiring a merely staggering sum of credits from Adiira as her contribution. She transferred the funds and composed herself to wait, but not patiently. Malavai spent much of his time off the ship, requesting a steady stream of tasks that took him away from her. When he was on the ship he kept mostly to his quarters, never entering their stateroom where she now slept alone. Or more accurately lay awake alone, reaching out in the Force to check on him over again, unable to resist probing at the wall that clouded his mind until the night that frustration and fear overwhelmed her and she battered at it as best she could. She heard him come awake with a sharp cry and stagger out of his room and she withdrew in horror, belting on a robe and going out to find him standing in the common room, shaking.

“Malavai?” she asked cautiously, reaching out to him tentatively.

He waved her hand away and wrapped his arms around his torso, closing in on himself. “Nightmare,” he croaked. “Sorry to wake you.” And turned and went back into his room, moving slowly. Adiira looked up and met Jaesa’s worried gaze, shook her head and retired to her quarters to grieve in silence.

It was the better part of a week, or a lesser part of an eternity, until Danal finally called to say all was in readiness. Adiira informed her crew that she’d be absent for a time and collected Jaesa as her assistant, leaving the rest of the crew to continue operations on Voss.

#

The shuttle came down on the ruined planet, stirring poisonous vapors into vortexes that momentarily cleared the haze from the landing field. Four people came down the boarding ramp together. They presented their passes at the security checkpoint, representing themselves as a minor noblewoman traveling with her daughter, her doctor and a Chiss bodyguard. They’d come to visit the medical labs at the venom mines in search of a rare cure for the girl, they told the guard who casually scanned the passes. He was far more interested in rattling through the standard hazard briefing about the dangers of Quesh than in their troubles.

Adiira adjusted her breathing rig and checked its functions as the others did the same. Jaesa staggered again as the full force of Quesh’s mutated wildlife pressed against her awareness.

“Will you be alright?” Adiira asked quietly. She would have brought Quinn and spared the girl on a normal visit, but that wasn’t really an option for this trip, after all.

“Yes, master, it’s just so strange. Give me a moment.” The four of them paused in the shelter of the shuttle port’s elevator bay until Jaesa straightened and nodded. “I’m fine now.”

Danal led the way, dodging past Republic roadblocks and bunkers. They weren’t here on official business, so there was no need to challenge the enemy. They weren’t officially combatants at all; it would be a shame to waste their carefully crafted documentation with a firefight that would draw Republic and Imperial attention.

He set a fast pace, north and west of the Imperial port. It wasn’t long before they were among the slag heaps and waste pools of the mining complexes. Adiira checked her stride as they crested the hill; the manufactory where Danal had gone first on their last trip to Quesh was a blackened ruin, twisted beams raking the sky.

“Isn’t that where we needed to go?”

“Not anymore,” Danal said, surveying the wreckage with a satisfied air.

“Where are we going then?”

“Ah, well, we need to talk about that. We need some compounds from the secure labs here; our passes will get us to the outer offices but no further. How many Imperials are you willing to kill for this?”

“As many as it takes,” Adiira said sharply with a slashing glance at him. “How many will it take?”

“Perhaps as many as twenty? Sentries and lab workers. We will have to cover our tracks, make it look like a Republic raid.”

Adiira merely nodded, grim-faced. Normally she would have asked if there was a less lethal plan. Describing a Sith lord as ‘mild’ seemed laughable, but it suited Adiira. She would never kill when she could avoid it. This feral mood was new and unsettling; Danal had the sense of limits shifting and wasn’t entirely sure he approved.

Getting in was easy. Doctor Lokin was at his most verbose and impenetrable, and the guards weren’t willing to listen to every single (fictional) medical detail he insisted on expounding to them. They merely glanced at the paperwork before waving them through.

Once inside, they moved fast, shedding disguise with the first failed challenge. Speed was their salvation now; comms had been squelched but that wouldn’t last long.

The body count was up to eight before they finally had the compounds they needed from this facility. Eight, until Adiira noticed Danal arming the baradium charge. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Surely we can get back out again without that?” (That was more like the Sith lord he knew, Danal thought with a small surge of relief.)

“We can get out, but I told you, it has to look like a Republic raid. They would never send Jedi against this base, and your methods are all too distinct. Plus, there’s poor Doctor Locutus and his patients to consider. How sad, the whole group dying in the raid, vaporized, just as that girl was to be cured. Those bastard Republicans!” Danal stood and pressed the arming button. “Just enough time to leave. Are you coming?”

They reached the crest of the hill with whole seconds to spare and dove to ground beyond it; the sky lit up and the earth shook behind them.

“This is where I leave you,” Danal said as they stood and dusted themselves off. “You head for the Hutt compound, I’ll meet you there.” He slipped away just as Adiira opened her mouth to ask where he was going; Doc Lokin shrugged at her questioning stare.

#

They stayed off the roads and away from the outposts; only a few warped beasts contested their passing, and those regretted it, briefly.

Small parties arriving from out of the woods were SOP at the Cartel palace, judging by the blasé guards at the gate. A cursory demand for ID was satisfied with the usual wad of credits, and the three of them were waved into the compound.

Jaesa frankly stared, eyes darting from the mercenary squads lounging against the compound walls to the heavy gun emplacements in the towers overlooking the courtyard, their clear field of fire covering every inch of the space. Adiira caught her attention with an emphatic mental _‘NO’_ and the girl’s eyes dropped to the paving. They passed without incident into the palace itself.

All Hutt palaces were the same, Adiira thought, looking around at the reception lounge slash cantina. They must have a central storehouse somewhere: _‘One Hutt palace, platinum trim, extra outbuildings…’_ She shook her head and brought herself forcibly back to the here and now. Tired; she was so very tired. There. Doctor Lokin had found the majordomo and the two of them were coming over to where she was standing.

“Your assistant has already arrived,” the Twi’lek said. “Everything is arranged as you wished.” He handed the doctor a keycard and map and palmed another bundle of credits in return, slipping them into his jacket.

“Right through that doorway,” he said, gesturing to one of the many passages leading into the bowels of the palace from the main room. “Thank you for your business, honored sir and ladies.”

The medlab had been rented well in advance. The Hutts would deal with anyone, and for the right price, even keep their dealings a secret. As promised, Danal was there ahead of them, leaning against one of the beds. There was a small, dusty case set on the floor next to the lab bench.

“What took you so..” Danal started, breaking off as Doc Lokin raised a pre-emptory hand for silence. He frowned at the doctor and gestured broadly at the small pile of broken recording devices resting next to his left hand. Lokin nodded absently and pulled a wand and controller from his pack, waving them both over every inch of the suite.

His second meticulous scan of the MRIM machine was rewarded with a flashing red light on the small controller. He opened the access port and pulled out a tiny silver microbug. Lokin smiled in satisfaction and fried the device with a single burst of blue lightning from the wand.

“Old tech, obsolete in most places. Your scanner doesn’t know how to look for it.” He looked at Danal and held out his hand. Danal grimaced and passed the good Doctor a credit chit with a long-suffering air.  

The two of them cooperated to set up portable jammers in several key spots around the room.

“To foil external mikes.” Danal said shortly, in response to Jaesa’s questioning stare.

They kept their voices low, even so. Once everything was ready, Danal opened the case and passed the ampules it contained up to the Doctor. Lokin set to work, analyzing and combining the reagents, and Adiira took a chair and settled in to wait.

A gentle shake on the shoulder woke her from a light doze; she started and her lightsabers hummed to life.

“Good thing I moved,” Danal said from across the room, watching as she came fully to herself and doused her blades.

“I appreciate that,” she said wryly. “I’d hate to cut you down by accident.”

“The serum is almost ready,” he responded. “Time to place your call.”


	3. Act Two

Malavai was lost in concentration. He didn’t even hear the comm’s chiming until the tones shifted to the shrilling alert he’d programmed to cut through any possible background noise, if it went unanswered after three gentler rings. It was guaranteed to get his attention, and in this case it did so at the expense of a long and delicate series of calculations. He jerked in surprise and his thumb found the datapad’s delete key, and he swore as an hour of careful work disappeared.

The entire day had been like that: one setback after another. And just to put the icing on the cake, the call was from his lord; it couldn’t go unanswered. He ran a harried hand through his hair, checked to see that there was nothing incriminating behind him, and answered the comm.

“My lord?”

“Quinn. There is a shipment of blue lucent crystals available from the Hutts on Quesh, and my stores are out. Please go and purchase them for me. I’m transmitting the coordinates now. Ask for Doctor Lazarus when you arrive at the Palace.”

A routine chore; any of the other crew could have handled it. Naturally it fell to him today, when he could least afford the interruption. Malavai gritted his teeth; he had to go, and smartly. She might suspect something if he hesitated.

“Very well, my lord.” He signed off and pocketed the comm, swept his datapad and drawings into the desk and locked everything securely before leaving the small office in the bowels of Nar Shadaa.

At least from here the travel arrangements were easy enough. The standard permissions of a Sith Lord’s retainer got him a seat on the next fast transport and greased his way onto the planet. How he hated Quesh. No matter how good your respirator was the smell still crept past the filters, irritating nose and throat. And naturally, his destination was the Hutt Cartel palace located at the furthest end of the road, the most inconvenient place possible, and the last leg of the journey could only be accomplished by private jitney, riding jouncing on a hard bench as the scrapheap vehicle rattled and banged down the ill-repaired road from the last Imperial outpost.

The gate guards at the Hutt Palace were officious and annoying, demanding ID and then demanding more proof of his existence and his business with the Cartel; they all but strip searched him. He knew better than to give up too much information, finally resorting to threats of violence instead. Eventually he gained the reception room, ruffled and looking for a fight.

“I’m here for a Dr. Lazarus?” he asked the first cartel employee he saw.

The young Twi’lek in the scanty costume smiled; he was the one she’d been paid to watch for.

“You look worn to a nub. Here, have a drink; the Rodarian paid for it then passed out.” Her shrug would draw any male’s eye. Malavai’s eyes dipped down and quickly back up to her face. He flushed and took a swig to cover his slip, too flustered and harried to think.

“Wait here, I’ll find your friend.” She was gone before he could explain it was only a business transaction. He took the seat she’d indicated. This planet was getting to him; he felt terrible. Far worse than usual...

No one noticed the Imperial officer slumped at a small corner table. The Twi’lek came back with two burly assistants and together they bundled the unconscious man out of the room, down one of the small passages leading deeper into the Palace. Business as usual. No one even blinked.

#

A knock at the door interrupted their consultations, and Danal nodded. “Right on time; your captain is prompt.” He went to answer the door.

“This the guy?” The Twi’lek dancer motioned to the limp body dragged behind her by her two goons.

“That’s him, thank you darlin’,” Danal said with a wink, Republic accent marring his vowels. He motioned to the carriers to bring their burden in and drop him on one of the medbay beds.

Danal reached into a pocket and pulled out a stack of credits, handing them to the dancer, who curtsied, smiling. The dancer and her cohorts left the room, heads together, already dividing the thick stack of credits between them.

Adiira hated to hear him speak like that. Hated what they were doing even more; Malavai’s limp body sprawled over the bed. She moved to straighten him, give him some semblance of dignity, as the doctor opened his jacket to start the IV. Danal stopped him with a gesture and the doctor paused.

“You know we risk killing him, re-establishing the protocol?” Danal asked once again, watching Adiira carefully.

“Yes. As his lord it is my duty. He will be free, one way or the other.”

Danal nodded at the doctor to carry on. Adiira watched, stone-faced, as the poisonous green fluids dripped into Malavai’s vein. She’d worn out her weeping rage some days ago.

“There. Give that a week or two to work, and you can reprogram him.” Doctor Lokin stripped the IV line and pulled the needle from Malavai’s lax arm, putting pressure on the injection site and coiling the tubing.

“How long will he be out?” Danal asked as the doctor finished packing up.

“With what I gave them to use? Hours yet. He won’t remember anything past taking the drink, if he remembers that.”

“Good…” Danal reached down and pinched hard at the IV site, then punched the same area. He began a methodical, carefully calculated beating of the unconscious man. Adiira walked blindly away from the pair.

#

Malavai found himself lying on a cot in an outpost medbay and tried to sit up.

“Where?”

The corpsman pressed him back down on the pallet.

“Hang on there, sir,” he said. “Looks like you got rolled at the Palace.”

“How did I get here?”

“Good citizen dropped you off, the watch said. You were in a pretty bad way.”

He scanned himself. Weak, groggy, mildly dehydrated. Dark bruises rising on torso and arms.

He catalogued his surroundings. He was shirtless. His jacket was draped over the foot of the cot. Comforting weight of blaster at his hip, gone. Malavai sat up on the edge of the cot, reached for the uniform jacket and checked the pockets. Credits likewise gone.   Vibroknife and comm link still secure in their inner pockets.

He had no memory of anything beyond arriving at the Hutt Palace. From the evidence, he’d been beaten and robbed.

First duty was to check in. “I regret to report that the mission was a failure, my lord. It seems I was set upon at the Hutt Palace.”

“Are you alright? Where are you?” Lord Adiira’s worry came clearly over the tinny speakers of the comm.

“Bruised, but otherwise unharmed. I am at…” He looked around. The corpsman mouthed “Imperial outpost gamma.”

“…the Imperial outpost closest to the Palace. The assailants relieved me of both credits and weapon, my lord.”

“Do you need help?”

He considered briefly. He’d enjoy burning the Hutt Palace to the ground if they had the leisure, but time was of the essence. “My lord, do you wish me to pursue those crystals?”

“No,” she said decisively. “It’s likely that was the lure your attackers used to rob you. I’d rather have you back.”

“Then no, my lord, I can return to the ship unaided.”

#

The effects of the external control and the resulting stress on his system were getting worse. Malavai was starting to hallucinate now. The single vision quest he’d endured at his lord’s side on Voss seemed to have unmoored his mind. He was having vivid and inescapable dreams. He’d dreamt himself as an ancient knight, Jaesa, his squire, buckling on armor which shredded away in a howling wind. He’d seen Adiira as a monster, attacking him in a gray citadel. Seen her as his puppetmaster, laughing as she made him dance in a storm of purple lightning. Seen her as his victim, small and defenseless in a kolto tank as he raised an axe to breach the tube.

He forced himself to focus as he made the last few adjustments to the droids. Mercifully, he’d soon be done – done and ended.


	4. Act Three

“Voss demands payment. You helped. I grant you this secret - be warned, one of your own plots to betray you.” Madaga-Ru’s projection shimmered and faded even as Adiira bowed her thanks.

#

_‘Oh, beloved, will you betray me to death?’_ Even knowing it was coming, even with all the planning they had done, still the pain was breathtaking. There was no Corellian blockade. The trap lay there on that ship, waiting for her. Adiira knew it with heartfelt certainty, the same Force-born intuition that had told her that Jaesa must become her padawan.

This was prologue. It took all of her control to see the conversation through with no more concern than was usual, responding to Pierce and Quinn with the sentiments they expected. Just like before, lying to Darth Baras, feeding him what he wanted to hear. No one must suspect what they did, not Pierce, not Malavai, not even Vette.

Adiira made her preparations carefully. The first step was to dock at Fleet, per instructions from Danal. “The less you know, the better,” he’d said, “but take Quinn off the ship for an hour.”

She went shopping, buying a new jacket while Malavai fidgeted at her side. She watched him with a jaundiced eye as he hinted, then suggested, then all but begged that they return to her ship and the mission. Finally the allotted time was up, and he relaxed as she paid for her purchases and quickly transferred back to the Fury.

She’d left her quarters secured when she left the ship, and the door was locked, telltales green, when she returned. Still, she was unsurprised to find a shielded blaster case on the desk. Her thumbprint opened the case. Inside was a jammer with hand-written instructions, and a small white card. Adiira slipped the card into an innermost pocket near her heart and relocked the case.

It was a short jump to the transponder vessel. Malavai’s face was a study when she told him she’d take Jaesa with her. The airlock clanked and hissed, and when they emerged Adiira was relieved to see Danal waiting for her in the medbay alcove.

They made their way through the oddly deserted ship, following the map Quinn had provided. A skeleton crew of droids opposed them or scurried away from the violent clashes, depending on their natures. The trap was set with his usual meticulous care; fewer people would die today than she’d feared.

“We’re the only ones here.” Jaesa said. “Wait… One more. There’s someone coming in from the emergency airlocks. It’s the captain, master. I’m sorry.”

“Where is he going?”

“He’s moving faster than we are… It looks like he’s going to the transponder room.”

Danal muttered: “At least he’s got the guts to kill you face to face.”

Adiira flinched but said nothing. They went on, pausing just before the final door.

“He’s inside... All I sense is confidence, master.” Jaesa whispered.

“Good. It will be well.” Now to open the curtain. She was risking everything on her heart-sure knowledge of a man. Trusting to his honor and intelligence to give them an opening as his mind cracked under the strain of holding two antithetical goals. She would not waste the chance. “It is time.”

The room was dark and bare, the lighting dim. Gray shadows obscured the walls and floor. Adiira could see only one figure clearly. Malavai stood at the front of the room, turning to face her as she entered. She crossed the threshold and came to him slowly, moving as in solemn processional. His face was a mask as he watched her walk to meet him.

“My lord, I could not leave you to this fate without being here to witness it.”

Act one. She would say the words he expected. “What fate, Quinn? What are you talking about?”

“It pains me, but this entire scenario is a ruse. There’s no martial law and no special signal emitter. Baras is my true master. He had me lure you here to have you killed. Baras has always been the anchor of my career, and in my opinion, of the Empire. I didn’t want to choose between the two of you, but he’s forced my hand and I must side with him.” Quinn paced as he spoke, looking steadily over her head, avoiding her eyes.

The bay doors behind him opened, revealing a pair of killer droids. “After all this time observing you in battle, I have exhaustively noted your strengths and weaknesses. These war droids have been programmed specifically to combat you. I calculate a near zero percent chance of their failure.”

Was there the smallest stress on the word ‘you’? Adiira wasn’t sure.

He thumbed the small emitter in his hand and Jaesa moaned and slumped to the deck. “Baras and I have been planning this for some time. You’ll have to face this fight alone, my lord.”

Adiira played the scene out to its logical conclusion. “You know who I am working for now, Captain. If you stand with Baras, you stand against the Emperor himself.”

“The Emperor is an absentee landlord. Baras is doing what any real patriot would do.” His mouth twisted and he fell silent. Time for her lines to change. Time for act two.

#

“It’s a very pretty speech, Quinn.” Adiira said, her voice cold. “How much of it did Baras write for you?”

Malavai’s mind stumbled to a halt; that wasn’t in the plan. Her lightsabers flared ablaze in that moment, and by their blue glare he caught just the barest glimpse of the sniper, crouching in the deep shadows at the doorway. Utter relief washed over him, and he folded his arms and braced to await his fate.

The war droids would indeed have been deadly, were she by herself. Even the neutralization of her padawan was carefully orchestrated; Jaesa woke in seconds and flung herself into the fray. In the end, the droids lay in smoking ruin, and Adiira held Malavai off the deck, choking him in the red glow of the Force.

(It took care and practice to subdue a man without maiming him or killing him outright. Practice Adiira didn’t have – care would have to be enough. Her heart in her mouth, she held him by the throat as he struggled and then went limp.)

When she finally let him go, he slumped to the deck.

“I knew it,” Malavai gasped, as he levered himself slowly and painfully to his feet. “I programmed the perfect killing machine for you. I was painstakingly precise.”

He pulled himself together and stood in the best semblance of attention he could manage, rejoicing at her survival and wondering at the same time why he was still alive. Malavai had seen her quixotic mercy before, but never in such a circumstance. To receive it after his attempt to murder her was beyond comprehension.   It was almost a relief to see her agent was still training a gun on him.

“My lord, I… I did not expect to survive this battle. I have betrayed you. Conspired with your most hated enemy.   I know it is meaningless to express my deep regret. I don’t expect your mercy.”

Lord Adiira made a cutting motion with one hand. “Now is not the time, Captain. We will discuss this aboard the Fury.”

He held his tongue, obedient, though questions and explanations boiled in his brain. She turned on her heel and left the room and the droids behind. _‘Leaving the scene of the crime,’_ he thought. He followed after, limping, and the agent took up the rear, watching him and the deserted corridors equally. Jaesa drifted back to him, offering her arm when he hissed with pain as torn muscles protested, but he waved her off. It was right and proper that he suffer for what he had done.

Before they reached the airlock, he stopped, and Adiira turned to see what was delaying him.

“One thing, my lord – do you plan on telling the others what happened?”

“No, Quinn. Nor will you.” And that was all she said to him. She looked past him to her agent, who nodded and stepped back into the shadows, then she turned to work the lock.

Vette came running when they reboarded the Fury, worry plain on her expressive face. Pierce was playing least in sight.

“It was a trap.” Adiira said to her. “Baras was behind it; he fed us false intel. Quinn took the brunt of it. Vette, you help him get patched up. Jaesa, with me. I’ll be in my quarters.”

He knew that was a lie, knew what damage the droids must have done, even with the others in the fight. But she glared him to silence and he followed the Twi’lek into the medbay as she’d ordered.

“Wow, Captain, they really worked you over.” Vette’s hands were as gentle as her voice, absent her usual snark; still, he grimaced as she applied the kolto salve that would mend his bruised throat.

“I thought I would die,” he said hoarsely, which was truth, if not all of it. “So it’s not that bad.” There was the lie.

She nodded, serious for once, taking his words at face value.

“Send the captain to me when you are done, Vette.” Adiira’s voice crackled from the medbay intercom.

“Almost there, Adiira. He’ll be right in.” Vette responded, glancing down at the med scan readout.

“You’ll be ok,” she said to him. “No permanent damage.”

He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to laugh in her face at that, or weep on her shoulder. Only his lord’s command to keep quiet kept him from making a complete cake of himself. _‘But I’ve done worse already,_ ’ he thought bitterly. Vette wrapped a long scarf of gauze loosely around his neck, and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.

“There, that’ll keep the kolto from rubbing off right away. You’re done, head on out. I’ll clean up here.”

Malavai paused outside of the medbay and gathered his tattered courage. Time for the reckoning. He moved stiffly across the hall to her door and knocked.

“Come!”  

He opened the door and entered her stateroom. He was glad to see the first aid kit laid open on the bed, torn packaging from several sets of bandages scattered around it. Adiira was the only other person there. She stood at her desk, her back to him, fiddling with a small machine. She was out of her armor, wearing the short wrapped tunic and knit pants she preferred aboard ship. The square edges of padded bandages raised the soft fabric at shoulder and thigh.

“One moment, Quinn. Close the door, please, and come here.”

He shut the door behind him and moved closer to the desk, stopping a few feet away from her back. The same position he usually occupied when they were in the field together, he noted absently, and wondered with a pang whether that would ever happen again. Would she relegate him to the ship and the sort of errands she gave Pierce? Would she grant him even that much?

Adiira checked the readouts on the machine twice before finally sighing and turning to him. “This is a portable jammer. It will mask everything we say here.”

“My lord…” He’d lost the right to her true name. Not now, maybe not ever again. It struck him like a hammer blow. He knew what had happened, every minute etched on his brain. The theft of control, the frantic search for an answer. How could he explain what he’d done? Did she believe the trap was meant to kill her? She must, that was what he’d pretended with everything in him, to fool the Darth and save her. Her face was closed to him; there were no clues there.

“My lord,” he tried again. “How can you forgive me?”

“The question, Quinn, isn’t whether I will be able to forgive you. It is whether you will be able to forgive me,” Adiira said, shutting her eyes briefly, fingers rubbing her temples.

She looked worn to the bone, now that he had time to observe her more intently. She dropped her hands from her face, closed the few steps between them and kissed him lightly then stepped back, leaving him standing there uncertainly.

“Captain Quinn! Attention!” Her voice cracked like a shot. Reflex jerked his body into position, militarily perfect. Only his eyes moved, bewildered, seeking answers in her face.

She took a card from her pocket and carefully read aloud: “Captain Malavai Quinn. Attention! Ranthorn-adumbrate.” His eyes widened in horror as he heard her pronounce his keyword. She went on: “Thesh protocol, phase one. New keyword: seraphim-agarose.”

“Thesh protocol engaged. New keyword accepted.” His mouth formed the words without his volition, as before. Internally he was screaming. With this at her disposal, what revenge would she exact for his apparent betrayal? It hardly mattered; never to have the chance to tell her what he’d done would be hell enough.

She studied him for a long moment. “Reject command interface. Accept no further orders. Revert to phase zero.”

“Accepting no further orders. Command interface closed.” He could feel it, bodily rigor fading, the mental cage opening. Things went distant and strange. His vision tunneled down to nothing; he didn’t know it when she caught him as he slid to the floor.

 


	5. Epilogue

Malavai came back to consciousness slowly, finding himself lying flat on his back in a dim room.  The low, almost subsonic rumble of engines and the higher-pitched shussh of a ventilation system argued for a ship, in stable orbit or docked.  The soft surface under his hands had the characteristic weight of luxury bedding.  He raised his head and looked around; by the evidence, he’d been unconscious for some time.  He lay under a light blanket on the wide bed of Adiira’s stateroom, naked but for briefs, and that foolish scarf of gauze had been unwound from his throat.  It felt as if a fever had broken; he was weak and disinclined to move, but overall he felt better – clearer – than he had in months.  

His mental fetters seemed to be entirely gone.

As an experiment, he cleared his throat and conversationally said: “My lord, Darth Baras captured and controlled me and set me to murder you,” into the empty air.  To his relief nothing prevented this pronouncement; no debilitating pain followed it.  To his surprise, the empty air answered back with a hoarse whisper.

“I know.”

After a moment he realized who that voice had to be, and his guess was confirmed when Adiira, clad in gray ship knits, sat up next to the bed.  Malavai rolled onto his side to see her better, resting his head on his arm.  They were face to face as she sat cross-legged on a low cot placed at the bedside.  Concerned gold eyes studied him.  He studied her in turn, noting the signs of exhaustion in her face.

Adiira held a datapad in one hand, braced on the edge of the bed.  Her hair was rumpled.  She was alive, she would be well ‐ he hadn't failed, hadn't succeeded in killing her.  He closed his eyes and fell back onto the pillow as the rush of relief swept over him.

He heard her anxious whine when he fell back and felt her gently touch his hand.  He captured her hand and clung to it, and she returned the pressure, increasing her grip, clinging to him as he was to her.   _'Alive, alive, alive,'_ his heart sang.

By the strength of that grip Malavai dared to hope, and slid to one side in the bed, drawing her after him.  She came willingly and nestled into his side, leaving the pad where it lay; his arm went around her and she rested her head on his chest and her arm around his waist and held onto him tightly.

He felt slow tears trickling onto his chest and reached up to stroke her hair, murmuring quiet wordless comfort.

#

They must have fallen asleep like that, because when he woke again the room was darkened and Adiira was stirring.  He loosened his grip and she sat up and turned to face him, resting one hand gently on his arm.

“Quinn… _Malavai_ …” and her voice was full of worry, "Malavai, are you alright?"

He hitched himself up and leaned against the headboard of the bed and ran a quick internal inventory.  Was he?  His sleep had been deep and dreamless, his thoughts were... entirely his own.  “Yes?  I believe, yes?”  But he had more urgent questions.  “My lord… Adiira, why am I here?”  

Adiira frowned at that and drew back.  “Where else would you be?” she demanded, sharp and a little hurt.

“Confined to quarters?  In the brig on Fleet?”  His eyebrows raised, “…dead on the transponder ship?  My lord, I tried to kill you.”  He fell silent and waited for her to unravel this puzzle.

“If I truly believed that, would we be here?” Her broad gesture took in the stateroom, the bed, themselves.  Indeed not; he knew her to be merciful, not foolish.  Her gaze softened and she took his hand.

“No… Malavai, we knew something was wrong as far back as Voss, even before Madaga-Ru’s warning.  We took steps; I trusted… trusted you, your honor.”  She broke off and looked around, reaching behind her for the forgotten datapad.  “Here.”  She woke the pad and fiddled with it one-handed, nodded, then took his hand and pressed it to the surface.  The pad chimed in response to his touch.

“This has everything.  It’s locked to your biometrics now, as well as mine.”

He took the pad – a diary, it appeared.  The entry on the screen was dated to their time on Voss, to the afternoon of that blighted picnic if he was not mistaken.  She got up from the bed and went to the fresher, and on her return settled at her desk to work as he read.  He’d reached the description of their time on Quesh when a random line caught his attention: “Danal seems to have a device for every eventuality.”  It rang a faint bell in his mind.  

He looked up in alarm.  “Adiira!”  She turned in her seat.  “How long?” he asked abruptly. “How long since we left the transponder vessel? And _where are we_?”

Adiira cocked her head, puzzled at his sudden intensity.  “We’re orbiting Corellia.  The ship is trailing one of her moons, out of range of scanners.  We’re safe,” she said soothingly.

“Good, but how long?” he demanded again.

Adiira looked at the chrono on the desk.  “Roughly 30 hours, why?”

His shoulders settled, and he looked at her with a small, grim smile.  “You’ll see.  My lord, we should return to the transponder vessel as soon as we may.  But not too close.”  He shifted to the edge of the bed, looking around the room for his discarded uniform.

Adiira stood at that and moved to the wardrobe, opening the doors wide.  She pulled a spare uniform from the hanging rack and tossed it onto the bed next to him before turning back to get her own gear.  “I sent what you were wearing to be cleaned,” she said from the depths of the closet.

That didn’t serve his need. “And the contents of my pockets?”

“In the desk,” she replied absently, one hand waving in that general direction.  Her attention was on her gear as she skinned into her undersuit and began the process of armoring up.  He pulled on his pants and belted his tunic and went over to the desk.  In the drawer was his ID, his wedding band, the credits that had been in his pockets, and a locked blaster case.  His thumbprint failed to open it.

He replaced the loose items in his pockets and set the case on the desk.  “My lord?”

“One of your devices was still live,” she said, coming over to the desk as she settled her sabers on her belt. “Perhaps some of Danal’s paranoia has rubbed off on me, but I thought it best to keep everything shielded until we could talk.”

She paused, one hand on the case, and stood regarding him steadily, waiting.

He couldn’t help but approve her caution.  “My lord, it’s a long range transmitter, a detonator.”

“Some last fillip from Baras?”

“No!  This is entirely my own plot.”  At that Adiira thumbed open the case and stepped back, revealing his blaster and two small actuators, one dark, one blinking green.  He slid the live actuator carefully into a pocket and the blaster into its holster, and then he was ready.  

Squaring his shoulders, he motioned to her to precede him from the room and fell into place at her side.

#

Vette was seated curled on the lounge in the common room, intent on a datapad.  She looked up as they left the stateroom.  “My lord,” she said, “Agent Rom said to tell you he’s ‘got some news on the lead’, whatever that’s about.”   Eyes wide, she sat forward and  looked at Adiira expectantly.

Adiira merely nodded once.  “Thank you, Vette.”

Vette pouted slightly and gave a tiny shrug, then turned her attention to him.  “Hey, Captain,” her voice was almost fond, Malavai decided. “Good to see you up and around.”

“I’m… grateful to be here, Vette.”  Grateful seemed like too small a word for everything he felt, but it would serve for now.  “Thank you for your good care.”

She nodded to him, sincere, and then grinned suddenly, eyes dancing.  “I took a holo, you know.”  She turned the datapad to show a glimpse of himself looking as unmilitary as possible: eyes wide with shock, hair more disheveled than usual, and the finishing touch, that white gauze scarf decorating his neck, ends trailing over his scorched uniform.  The image had a caption: “Captain Rattled.”  

“In case I need it later,” she finished smugly.

“Vette!”  Adiira’s reproving voice still held a hint of laughter.

Malavai just shook his head, suppressing the answering grin that threatened to rise to his lips.  Not entirely successfully, judging by the smirk he got in return.

“We’ll be leaving orbit shortly,” Adiira said to Vette, “We need to finish at the transponder ship.”  She looked to him for confirmation and he nodded.

“I’ll get engineering locked down.”  Vette stood and carefully stashed her datapad in a pocket before leaving the common room at a jog.

Someone much shorter than he was had last used the pilot’s chair, Malavai found as he slipped into his usual seat on the bridge.  It was probably Vette who had had piloted the craft from the transponder ship to this safe haven, he reflected, adjusting the seat back to his preferred settings.  Adiira took her place in the Captain’s chair at his back as he toggled the intercom to warn the rest of the crew.

“Breaking orbit in five minutes,’ he called.  “Please secure your stations.”

As the only actual physical evidence of the fictional “Corellian blockade”, the transponder ship wasn’t far away via hyperspace.  It was less than an hour before they dropped out of hyperdrive and the vessel he had expected to be his pyre was framed in the viewport.

Malavai unbelted himself from the pilot’s chair and stalked closer to the wide viewport that dominated the bridge.  “There you are,” he murmured, eyes narrowed, resting one hand on the transparisteel.  

Adiira came to join him.  “What do you need here?” she asked, gazing out at the enemy ship.  Her mouth curled in a snarl he didn’t think she was fully aware of.

Malavai answered, his eyes never leaving the ship that hung before them.  “Darth Baras is not a sufficiently long planner, my lord.  He failed to issue any commands pertaining to the timeframe beyond this trap.  I suppose he thought I would die in the ambush that was meant to slay you.  Most Sith would kill their betrayer first.”

“I guess you’re lucky I’m not most Sith.”

“Indeed, my lord, vastly lucky.” Malavai glanced aside at her and reached out for her hand and raised it to his lips.  Her grip tightened on his as he lowered their joined hands.

“In any case, with my better knowledge of you I was able to calculate that I did have a small chance of survival, no matter how things fell out.”  He paused, eyes dark.  “And if I did live, my whole purpose from then on would be the extirpation of Darth Baras and all his works. The first step being to confound him by leaving no evidence of our fate.”

Malavai shifted to stand in front of the pilot’s console, eyes on the sensor display as he used the Fury’s thruster controls to change their position, easing them just slightly further from the transponder ship.  When he was satisfied with what he saw, he stepped back to the viewport and pulled the live actuator from his pocket.

“This would have happened in three days, regardless,” he told her.  “But now there will be no chance of an innocent pirate or salvager aboard.”  Nor any agent of their enemy, desirable though that might be.

He pressed the single button on the small device in his hand.

#

Adiira watched, fascinated, as the ship in front of them began to die. The process started agonizingly slowly; tiny flares broke out of its skin here and there, and bright puffs of vapor in a dozen places showed where atmosphere was venting to space.  An antenna bent- broke, and pinwheeled away - a gun emplacement vanished in a bloom of sparks.  The hull began to ripple under the strain of a hundred explosions.  And then it vanished altogether in a huge gout of flame.

“I was very thorough,” Malavai said softly when the powercore went critical.  He grabbed hold of a handrail and snaked an arm around her waist and they rode out the shockwave together, staggering but keeping their feet.  He released her to stand on her own once she had her footing again.

Adiira heard running in the halls of her ship and was entirely unsurprised to see her crew burst onto the bridge as the collision alarms started to howl.  Vette swore shrilly and threw herself at the nearest power console, slapping up their shields.

“Nothing large enough to do damage will reach us,” Malavai told Vette distantly over his shoulder, still watching the expanding cloud of glowing gas and molten metal.

Adiira turned away from the glowing debris field filling the viewport to observe her people better.   Her crew’s faces were vivid, shocked, painted with the fiery glow of destruction.

“There’s nothing large enough left,” Vette echoed, hushed; her hands were folded in her lap as she sat at the power console, wide eyes fixed on the cataclysm outside.  Jaesa had stopped just behind the Captain’s chair.  She watched the drama inside, eyes darting between Quinn and her lord.  Adiira felt a feathery touch in the Force and sent what she hoped was a soothing aura back to her padawan, and saw Jaesa take a breath and begin to center herself in Jedi calm.  Pierce… Pierce was _angry_ , not stunned, but he covered quickly when he saw her looking at him, folding his arms and standing at parade rest in the bridge entry, his face grim and tense.

Adiira leaned over the front of the main console and punched the control to quiet the shrieking alarms.  She stood upright again, a stern silhouette braced against the shockwave, haloed in the orange light pouring into the bridge.

The alarms fell silent all at once - Adiira’s voice rang out in the sudden hush: “Baras has made his last mistake, my friends.  He’s forged us into the blade which will cut his cancer from the Empire.”  

At that, Malavai pushed away from brooding over his handiwork to take the two steps needed to reach her side.  He stepped into his rightful place, standing with her, shoulder to shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> I have never had any inclination to write fanfic. I.. _had_ to write this. 
> 
> I was _so angry_ at this episode in the Sith Warrior storyline, I raged for two days. If you romanced Quinn, EVERYTHING pointed to him being entirely devoted to you. There was no way that the story as shown was the true story. 
> 
> All of the stories and snippets in "A Warrior's Heart" grew from this one.


End file.
